COULD we but guess, beyond the gates-on-gates, Who waits! Who sowed that misty acreage, -- our own, Unknown; Whereof the casual sheaves our garners fill With Good and Ill! Could we but guess, -- we scarce would claim as ours These gifts and powers -- But oh, ourselves in full we might forgive, And live! Could we but know -- past each ascending gate Is Fate; And nothing can we do, for there she stands With shaping hands! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOROTHY DANCES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER WOMEN MEN'S SHADOWS by BEN JONSON WINDY NIGHTS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON SONGS by RICHARD HENRY STODDARD INDIFFERENCE by GEOFFREY ANKETELL STUDDERT-KENNEDY |